


Fall asleep in my arms

by QueenXIV



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Enj is a sexy revolutionary, Ferre is a sexy doctor, Injury, M/M, and they are a sexy couple, logic and philosophy week, seeeeeexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8396197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenXIV/pseuds/QueenXIV
Summary: Combeferre still remembered with detail the day he met Enjolras





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys and girls! Okay, this story is inspires by my life, because damn, the other day I went to the hospital and my doctor reminded me of Ferre and he was hella hot so yeah... This story was born. 
> 
> Enjoy it please, and leave a commentary!

Combeferre still remembered with detail the day he had met Enjolras. He was in his internship in the hospital, helping the doctors around with emergencies and he had been given the night shift that day. It was usually calm in those ungodly hours, only the usual baby with a bit of fever or a drunkard with alcohol intoxication. But then someone burst through the door making a huge ruckus. A group of students, around his same age, was shouting, all in apparent distress. It appeared that two of them were holding a third one that could barely stand up alone. Probably drunk, he had thought. 

“Please, please, our friend is badly hurt.” A curly haired one cried, quickly approaching a nurse that was trying to quiet them down. The nurse seemed to examine the hurt boy and Combeferre approached also, knowing he would be expected to handle that patient. “…a wheelchair of something, he can’t stand up.” 

He grabbed the curly haired boy’s arm to catch his attention and beckoned him to one of the examination rooms, where they would be able to lay down their friend. Combeferre followed the troop, but told them that only one of his friends could stay in the room. The curly-haired one didn’t even doubt it when he told them to go outside, that he would stay with… Enjolras. That was the first time Combeferre heard his name. 

The other went outside to fill the correspondent paperwork for their friend, while Courfeyrac sat down beside his friend, softly tucking away the blond hair from his face. That’s when the young doctor took notice of how his patient looked. Even though he was battered, his nose bruised and bloodied, his lip broken and a bit swollen, his jaw turning an ugly purple colour, the boy still managed to look angelical. Combeferre had never seen something like that. 

“What happened?” Combeferre asked, trying to maintain his professionalism while examining that beautiful face that was going to need stitched in a quite deep cut in his brow. His pulse was okay, and his breathing and temperature seemed regular. He checked the blonde’s pupils; he was just on the verge of unconsciousness, probably from a beating. The doctor quickly grabbed the disinfectant and started rubbing softly the wounds, happy to hear the patient stir and grimace with the stinging feeling the alcohol gave him; he was almost awake. 

“We were having a meeting (we have an activist group, Enj is our leader) and it was longer than expected and the place started to fill up with drunks (we usually hold them on a private room but we had to hold it at the bar today) and then one started insulting some of us and our causes and ideals and well, Enjolras, he is very passionate about everything: his friends, what he believes in… And what started as a shouting match ended up as… Well, a brawl. We all participated, trying to defend Enjolras, but the other guy was a brute and he got the worst of it. The rest of us only ended up bruised.” 

Combeferre nodded slowly, taking on everything. He would have to report that it had been a fight the cause of the injury, and maybe that would lead to the police. Maybe he could lie though. The blonde angel, Enjolras, had enough problems as it was with what was probably a fractured nose and a broken arm, judging by the angle it was held. 

“We’ll say he fell down a flight of stairs.” Combeferre said, winking at the curly-haired boy, whose eyes lit up and smiled. 

“Thank you!” Judging by his reaction, Combeferre thought the other boy probably knew what was going to happen if Combeferre reported it had been a fight. “By the way, I’m Courfeyrac.” They were shaking hands when a groan attracted their attention. Enjolras was waking up, his eyes blinking slowly, his breathing becoming laboured. The blonde tried to sit up but groaned and grunted when he put the weight on his injured arm. Combeferre quickly made him lay down again, pushing him softly on the chest. 

“Hey, it’s okay. Your arm is broken, that’s why it hurts. My name is Combeferre, I’m a doctor, you’re at the hospital. How are you feeling?” 

“Awful. What happened? Courf?” 

“I’m here!” Courfeyrac quickly approached his friend, sitting down beside him, smiling softly. Enjolras sighed, calming down. “The fight was awful, Enj, that guy beat you badly.” 

“Fuck him.” Enjolras whispered with a grimace. 

“Yeah, fuck him. He will have a nice swollen eye to remember you, though.” Courfeyrac grinned and then retreated, to let Combeferre do his job. 

“Are you in pain?” The doctor already knew the answer, with how badly bruised the boy was, but it was normal procedure before administering painkillers. 

“My arm and my brow are killing me right now. Did he really broke my arm? Fuck…” Combeferre smiled softly and helped Enjolras sit up a bit. He took the blonde’s good arm and as well as he could, injected him some codeine. 

“Yes, your arm is indeed broken, and I’ll have to stitch your brow but that’s all the major injuries. The others are superficial cuts and scratches that will need care so they don’t leave a nasty scar.” 

Enjolras just nodded, still a bit groggy from the pain and the blood he had lost through his brow wound. He stared at Combeferre while the doctor prepared the stitches, wondering how could the man be so calm before putting a needle through his forehead. But he was, and he smiled softly at Enjolras, sending a calming wave through his body, while he started stitching the cut. The codeine was taking effect and Enjolras was starting to feel every more diffuse, barely feeling the stitching. 

Combeferre and Courfeyrac, sensing that Enjolras was falling asleep, held him while Combeferre put his arm in the right position and starting wrapping it. That was the first time Enjolras had fallen asleep in Combeferre’s arms. The next ones, to clarify it, did not include Courfeyrac. 

A year later, Combeferre had integrated himself in that colourful group that was called Les Amis de l’ABC and Enjolras and him had started sharing a flat. Two years later, Enjolras and Combeferre flat only had one huge bed. And Enjolras still fell asleep on Combeferre’s arms, sometimes in an examination room, drugged with codeine and with bloody noses and bruises after a protest gone badly; sometimes in their bed after sharing soft kisses and bidding each other good night.


End file.
